


Latch

by aurics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, One of those walk-in-the-rain scenarios, thinking of kuroken makes me feel SUPER WARM so i hope this fic can be warm too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma wants to quit, but Kuroo's not going to let him run away so easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latch

**Author's Note:**

> Something short I wrote while trying to overcome this horrible writing block ;_; apologies in advance for any ooc! (Title from the song 'Latch' by Kodaline)

The only sound audible over the drumming of raindrops on far too-soaked ground is Kenma’s own ragged breathing. Inhaling the biting cold air that gnaws at his insides, all Kenma can think about is how the sudden bout of chilly weather during May is a palpable offbeat. A manifestation of his role in the team probably, he thinks with a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

He clutches at his chest, now thoroughly drenched thanks to the inadequate coverage his jersey offers. There’s nothing wrong with being curbed for the first few games — he knows that. After all, in an inventory full of experienced players, he hardly stands out, let alone be deserving of a regular spot. It’s a given that he’d spend the preponderance of his time observing the team, studying the team that works with the precision of a faultless clockwork.

 

But the pill that’s hard to swallow is the capsule of shouts, orders and taunts from the upperclassmen. Kenma has no clue about the origins of high school rules; but for all they’re worth, they’re pretty fucked up. What business do the second-years have shoving Kenma around like he’s just another ball lying on the gymnasium floor? The third-years are worse; they'd roll their eyes at him whenever he steps foot onto the court, and if he misses a receive or fails to connect a toss to the spiker, they’d heave a big, purposefully loud sigh. He’s always been the odd one out in elementary school and junior high, and he’d hated it. But now, he’d pick being the isolated freak over being a deadweight to a team anytime.

 

As if on cue, a clap of thunder rips through the sky, startling Kenma. He instinctively picks up pace, eager to get out of the rain that is slowly transforming into a torrential storm. If there’s anything he hates more than bossy seniors, it's getting wet. Cleaning up after the small puddles he leaves in the hallways is far too much trouble; not to mention getting himself dry and cosy again, and the routine usually draws so much energy out of him that he would do nothing but collapse onto the nearest furniture afterwards.

 

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the umbrella held precariously above his head — a little higher than necessary — until he hears the small cough accompanying it. 

 

“You’ll catch a cold, getting soaked like that."

 

He jumps, and exhales in relief when he registers the owner of the voice. _It’s just Kuroo_ , Kenma thinks. No big deal. Except when Kenma stares at his face — _really_ stares — there’s genuine concern in the taller boy’s eyes; so unlike the hard, fiery gaze Kenma’s used to seeing in games. His instincts prod him to reassure his friend with anything to alleviate his worries.

 

“It’s nothing. I’ve been through worse,” but Kenma doesn’t move away from the shelter of the umbrella, blocking out the raindrops with little _pitter-patter_ noises. The warmth of the body beside him is so inviting that he can’t help but shuffle closer.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want you getting sick.” Slipping into step with Kenma is natural to Kuroo. Soon they’re side by side, strides synchronised and Kenma’s damp arm pressed onto Kuroo’s dry sleeve. Thinking that the noncommittal hum he gives as a reply is enough, neither of them speak until Kuroo asks; “why did you leave early?"

 

Kenma looks away, adjusting his backpack. “I was tired."

 

“Hmm. So you gonna make up for it tomorrow morning then?” Kuroo smiles down at Kenma. “I can come with you if you want."

 

Letting out a shuddering breath, Kenma closes his eyes and frowns deeply, glaring at the ground. He really doesn't want to break the news in this manner; not while he’s drenched and cold and hungry and more than a little irritated. An ideal situation would be just the two of them in the classroom, where Kenma is snug in his chair with his smartphone in his hand serving as an excuse to evade the questions that would probably follow his less-than-impressive declaration.  But it’s been gnawing at him for ages now, and Kenma doesn’t trust himself not to vomit everything out in even more inappropriate situations if he doesn’t spill this instant.

 

“Kuroo. I think I’m going to quit volleyball."

 

One, two, three beats of silence pass and Kenma stirs from his nervous stupor enough to look up, trying to gauge Kuroo’s reaction from his expression. He can’t detect anything other than Kuroo’s thoughtful frown, often seen in the midst of a particularly difficult game. Unlike Kenma, Kuroo’s moves are polished, with a flair almost on par with players a year or two more experienced than he is. It’s hardly surprising that he’s been in the starting line-up far more often than Kenma, and to him it’s not even worth brooding over. He’s happy for Kuroo — he is, after all, clearly the bigger volleyball fanatic between the two.

 

But Kenma still wants to be on the court, still wants to play alongside teammates he wants to make friends with despite the little inclination he shows. Feeling like a spare part isn’t something that sits with Kenma well ever since elementary school.

 

Kuroo heaves a big sigh, and Kenma half-expects him to say something cheesy — one of his tag lines that he occasionally uses to motivate the team, something to do with blood and oxygen or whatever — so he’s completely thrown off-guard when Kuroo says, with determination;

 

“Next year, I’ll definitely become Nekoma’s captain.” There’s a pause, only filled with the noise of rain on the gravel road and the umbrella above them. “And I won’t let them push you around."

 

Kenma scowls, letting his hair fall back onto his face to obscure his view of Kuroo’s face. And hide his furious blush. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not a wimp."

 

“I never said you were,” Kuroo replies with ease.

 

"You were sort of suggesting it."

 

"It's more like the opposite. You're unique, Kenma; you do things in the game that no one can." He notices Kenma rolling his eyes and replies by shaking his head. "You don't see it yourself, but I do. You know where the weak links in each team are, and not every player can do that. You're valuable to the team and I won't let anyone change that."

 

"Yeah, that's why I've only been playing like three times over the course of four months."

 

“But it’s part of volleyball. It's part of development; there's bound to be things that get in your way. Teammates keep the flow of the game going, patch up fractures and eliminate these disruptions. I want to do that.” A hand lands on Kenma’s left shoulder. “I’m your teammate. And we’ll play more games together in the future."

 

And there’s the tag line. This time Kenma lets his frown defrost, melting away with the trickle of raindrops down the side of his face. There’s a hint of a laugh bubbling up his throat and threatening to spill out, but it’s all swallowed back down when they lock gazes. The wind must have pick up speed; all Kenma can feel is the knots in his chest untangling, the iciness smothered by a slow, gradual build-up of warmth. The muscles in his face involuntarily mirror Kuroo’s smile as he leans into Kuroo’s touch. It’s warm and resolute, and somehow Kenma believes him — trusts Kuroo to fulfill his promise of becoming captain next year, and it makes Kenma want to promise he’ll play well too so he could rightfully earn his place in the regular line-up. He brings a tentative hand to his hair. It’s still positively dripping, but Kenma suddenly feels like he’s never been in the rain at all.

 

Something weird is happening to him. He blames the after-effects of a grueling practice.

 

“Fine,” is all he says in response, knowing that Kuroo has no qualms about having to decode his occasional monosyllabic answers. Kuroo probably hears Kenma’s promise because he chuckles afterwards, tightening his hold.

 

They reach Kenma’s house in no time. And it’s only when Kuroo lets go and Kenma is suddenly deprived of a certain warmth does he realise that Kuroo’s hand has been on Kenma’s shoulder the entire walk.

 

“Bye,” Kuroo waves, and Kenma can only move his own arm mechanically. Just before he turns around, Kuroo stops in his tracks and looks back, a grin on his lips. “You didn’t say ‘it’s nothing’. That’s a pretty promising sign."

 

Kenma washes his jersey and dries it immediately that night. He’s going to need it for tomorrow's practice after all.

 

 

 


End file.
